


with your feet in the air and your head on the ground

by theagonyofblank



Category: Actor RPF, Pitch Perfect (2012), Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theagonyofblank/pseuds/theagonyofblank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna, Brittany, and the evolution of a friendship. (Also known as: Anna, Brittany, and all the dates they're pretending aren't.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	with your feet in the air and your head on the ground

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by [Shatteredsand](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatteredsand/pseuds/Shatteredsand), who wanted: _Anna and Brittany, and all the dates they're pretending **aren't** dates._ This isn't exactly that, but hopefully it's close enough.
> 
> A major, major thank you to [sexonastick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick) for encouragement, ideas, and discussion. This would not exist without her help.
> 
> Title is from Yoav's "Where Is My Mind?".

_01._

She’s sitting in Anna’s trailer, painting her nails.

“You know they’re just going to make you take it off, right?”

Brittany rolls her eyes as she finishes her pinky finger. “You’re always such a spoilsport. Come help me paint my toes.”

“You say spoilsport, I say realist,” Anna corrects, but she slides down so that she’s on the floor next to Brittany anyway. She reaches for Brittany’s right foot, resting it in her lap, and then scrunches her nose. “Your feet _stink_.”

 “They do _not_!”

Brittany tries to take her foot back, but Anna’s holding it firmly in place. “Do too,” she teases, laughing as she reaches out blindly, past the scattered magazines and discarded tissues, until her fist closes around a random bottle.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Nope,” Anna says nonchalantly, with a grin. “But you asked me to help, so you’re just going to have to suffer the consequences.”

Brittany knows she’s going to come out of the trailer with a different colour on each toenail, but somehow she doesn’t mind as much as she thinks she should.

 

 

_02._

“You’re a really bad influence on me.”

It’s almost four in the morning, and Brittany’s trying not to think about how she has to report to the dance studio at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow- uh, make that _in four hours._

Anna turns away from the screen – apparently _Starship Troopers_ is a weird, secret favourite of hers – and regards Brittany for a moment. “I’m a _great_ influence on you.”

“No, you’re not,” Brittany counters, stretching. “We’re going to be so tired tomorrow.”

“Speak for yourself, missy,” Anna says, poking Brittany in the side where her shirt has lifted. “ _I’m_ going to be wide awake. I have the stamina of a—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.”

Brittany tugs her shirt back down as she resettles on the couch, resting her head on Anna’s shoulder.

“Whatever,” Anna shifts to accommodate Brittany easily, her attention already back on the television as one of the creatures lets out a particularly horrifying screech. “Your loss.”

 

 

_03._

“My hooker could totally out-hooker yours,” Anna tells her one day, while they’re sitting with their food from craft services.

(They do this thing where they make up characters and act them out on-set.

Anna – Anna Camp – usually plays this Russian looking for a husband who has a surprisingly detailed backstory; Brittany doesn’t even want to guess where all of that came from, but – it’s funny.

Most recently, they were all porn stars from Minnesota. It’s best not to think too hard about it.)

Brittany doesn’t deign to respond, instead spearing a green and popping it into her mouth.

“I’m just saying,” Anna continues after a minute of silence, her eyes following Brittany’s fork. “If it came down to it.”

“You are _so_ weird,” is the only thing Brittany can think of to say, watching as Anna’s lips lift into a smile. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“You’re deflecting because you know I’m right.”

Brittany looks away when Anna scrunches her nose and sticks her tongue out – weird _and_ immature – doesn’t trust herself not to say something clipped or acerbic in reply, when she really doesn’t mean any of it.

 

 

_04._

Skylar’s birthday is on a Friday, and Brittany finds herself being dragged to the grocery store the Thursday before.

“We’re going to bake him a cake,” Anna explains, leading her down the cereal aisle by the hand.

Brittany lets herself be pulled along, trying not to notice how her hand fits in Anna’s.

It’s disconcerting – not in a bad way, but it’s just a little strange, and not like what she thought it would be.

Not that she’s thought about this before, or anything.

“We are?” Brittany echoes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks. She pulls her hand away from Anna’s to cross her arms over her chest.

Anna’s busy looking around at the cereal boxes and – if she even notices at all – doesn’t seem to think much of it. “Well, Rebel thought it could be fun, and everyone else—”

“Can any of us even cook?”

“It’s _baking_ ,” Anna says, triple quadruple emphasis on the baking part. She grabs a Trix box off the shelf and places in the cart before moving on. “You just crack some eggs and mix it up. How difficult can it be?”

Right before they check out (and between getting actual groceries – an arduous task, considering Anna doesn’t really know what she needs at home and just adds things to the cart when she thinks she might need something – and arguing about whether Funfetti or Red Velvet Cake makes for a better birthday cake – and then finally going with Devil’s Food – they’ve spent an hour in the store), Brittany makes a quick stop by the pre-made cakes and picks one out with the “Happy Birthday” iced on in neat cursive.

It’s what saves the party the next day.

 

 

_05a._

It’s a bit of a travesty that it’s now October and Brittany _still_ hasn’t seen _Bridesmaids_.

By some stroke of fortune, it’s still playing at a small theater near LSU, and everyone agrees to go for the showing at eight after they’ve wrapped for the day.

“I like watching myself in movies,” Rebel says to her at six that evening after various people have texted to cancel, and this is one of those instances where she’s _pretty_ sure that Rebel is joking, but she could also… not be. “I like to see all the things I’m doing correctly, and then make a note of it and tell my costars. So they can be on the lookout. For all this.” Rebel makes a grand sweeping gesture that could span her body from head to toe but could also encompass the whole state of Louisiana. It’s a toss-up.

Anyway, she _assumes_ that means that Rebel’s going to show, but it’s now a quarter to eight and she’s the only one standing in line for tickets.

She’s pretty much resigned to watching this thing on her own when a tap on her shoulder has her spinning around, and—

“Oh,” Brittany jumps, surprised at how close Anna’s face is to hers.

Anna laughs sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” She peers around Brittany, as though she could be hiding the entire cast behind her dress. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Couldn’t make it, I guess,” Brittany frowns slightly. “I sort of lost track of who was actually going to show up.”

“So it’s just the both of us, then.”

Anna has this look in her eye that makes Brittany suddenly very nervous. For a second, it almost looks like she wants to say something, but then seems to think better of it.

“Looks like it,” Brittany says, throat dry.

 “Fine by me,” Anna shrugs, linking arms with Brittany. “But you’re buying the popcorn.”

 

 

_05b._

They're standing outside the movie theater after the movie, and it's sort of awkward.

Like neither of them really wants to leave, but neither of them can come up with a good reason to stay, either.

It reminds Brittany of a first date, but now she's just being silly.

“You know, Snow,” Anna begins, breaking the— whatever this is. She has this twinkle in her eye, and Brittany already knows that she’s going to wish she never heard whatever Anna’s planning on saying in the next five seconds.

“If you wanted to go out with me, all you had to do was to ask nicely.”

 

 

_06a._

It occurs to her – at various points over the previous few days – that Anna was actually joking about having a sleepover, but it’s way too late to do anything about that now.

 _I don’t think my apartment has ever been so clean!_ she texts Anna as she sinks back into her couch with a content sigh, glad for a break after an afternoon of tidying up.

Also, she stocked up on snacks. There’s even a neat stack of delivery options on her coffee table.

Anna’s reply comes a few minutes later: _Just for me? You shouldn’t have!_

Brittany can just imagine the sarcasm that’s supposed to go along with that text, and is about to shoot off a reply of her own, when her phone buzzes again: _I hope you know that I don’t put out on the first date._

She laughs, rolling her eyes. It takes her a moment before she replies: _Just tell me we can at least get to second base._

_Only if you provide the alcohol. I’m not THAT easy._

 

 

_06b._

“Whoa,” Anna says when she steps into the kitchen later that evening. “That’s a lot of wine.”

“Well. You _did_ promise me second base.”

 

 

_07._

The sky’s already dark and the air is chilly.

She adjusts her coat, feels more than sees Anna doing the same thing next to her, and glances out at the cameras and flashing lights – she briefly wonders how long the fans and paparazzi have been standing out there, because it’s _cold_ – but then fingers tangle in her own, and she forgets about all that.

Anna looks a little tense. Brittany can tell by the way her mouth is set in a thin line, even though her lips are already curving upward in the beginnings of a smile.

(It’s one for the cameras; she knows this as well as she knows herself.)

Brittany wishes she could tell Anna that it’s all right, that she’ll get used to it; instead, she settles for a reassuring squeeze of the hand, hopes it conveys everything she wants to say.

It's Anna who leads them to the car, her hand never once letting go.

 

 

_08a._

It’s Anna’s turn to pick a movie tonight.

“Please don’t tell me this is another movie like _Starship Troopers_ ,” Brittany says when she sees the DVD that Anna’s holding up.

Anna actually looks wounded. “You **_liked_** _Starship Troopers_.”

“Maybe,” Brittany allows. There were some cute guys in it, she supposes. Off Anna’s pout, she repeats, more firmly, “ _Maybe._ ”

That’s all Anna’s going to get out of her.

 

 

_08b._

_Awful_ isn’t really Brittany’s favourite movie genre, but she settles down next to Anna anyway, curls her arm around Anna’s and tucks her head in close to Anna’s chest.

It’s not so bad.

 

 

_09._

“You know nothing, Brittany Snow,” Anna declares solemnly one day, out of the blue.

(Somehow Brittany feels like this is a reference she’s supposed to get but just doesn’t.)

Anna is looking at her intently – she’s been doing that a lot lately, Brittany’s noticed – and it crosses her mind that maybe Anna’s just going to tell her what’s going on.

(“ _Starship Troopers_ is an _awesome_ movie,” is what Anna says instead, and Brittany wonders when she started being able to tell when Anna’s avoiding the subject.

Whatever that subject may be.)

 

 

_10._

Anna Camp is at their next sleepover.

Brittany can’t quite remember who invited her – she’s not sure that’s important – but she’s also not sure when she and Anna started needing a buffer.

They haven’t had one-on-one time in _weeks_ , and Brittany doesn’t like being that needy friend, but she _misses Anna_.

“So, what gives, Snow?”

Anna’s in the bathroom – “My bodily functions need to function,” she says, and once the door shuts behind her, Brittany turns to see Camp literally _staring her down_ , really intensely, and it’s difficult not to feel uncomfortable under a gaze like that.

She fidgets, but only a little. “What?”

“You. Kendrick. Being weird,” Camp huffs, as though Brittany’s being deliberately obtuse. Which she supposes she kind of is, so she deserves that. And as though that’s not enough, Camp feels a need to add, “It’s _weird_.”

Brittany blinks, putting on her best _what are you talking about_ face. “I think _you’re_ being weird.”

Camp shoots her a look that says she’s not fooling anyone, but Brittany studiously ignores it.

“You guys should just bone, and maybe all this sexual tension would–” she gestures around vaguely with her hands. “–dissipate.”

That’s completely _not_ what she’s expecting her to say, and Brittany is so startled that she can only gape at Camp. “She doesn’t— We’re not— _What?_ ”

“You’d be doing us all a favour,” Camp informs her. “Seriously. Just do the naughty. Everyone would thank you.”

Brittany’s first thoughts are _who is ‘us all’_ and _who is ‘everyone’_ , but before she can come up with a coherent response, Anna plops back down onto the sofa on the other side of Camp.

“What did I miss? Who’s doing the naughty with whom?” She waggles her eyebrows, and Brittany feels her stomach drop.

“No one,” she mutters as she slumps back into the cushions, cheeks warm. “Nothing.”

“We were just speculating on your love life,” Camp adds, and Brittany wants to strangle her. She wonders if she could hide the body behind the dumpster. No one would notice, right?

“Oh, didn’t Snow tell you? We’ve been dating for a while—”

Anna has this shit-eating grin on her face, and Brittany feels herself flush in response.

“—but she won’t put out. Any advice?”

Camp now looks like she can’t decide if she’s about to lose it or _actually give serious advice_ , and Brittany really, really just wants to crawl into a hole and _die._

She hates _everyone._

 

 

_11._

“You’re really busy,” Anna notes once.

“Yeah,” Brittany clears her throat. “Yeah.”

“Fielding off multitudes of job offers, Snow?”

Brittany smiles, but it’s tight. “You know how it is.”

It’s weird between them – it’s like they’re fighting but neither of them knows what about – and she just wants it to go back to normal.

 

 

_12a._

Anna comes up with a solution.

“I have a solution,” is literally what she says.

Brittany, of course, has zero idea what she’s talking about, but before she can say anything, Anna’s hands are cupping her cheeks and Anna is leaning in and _what in the world is going on_ and _is this real life or is this just fantasy_ and also _ohmygod, if this is a joke, she is going to **kill someone**_ but then it’s happening –

Anna is _kissing her_.

Like, _really_ kissing her. With _tongue_ and everything.

She returns the sentiment with equal fervour.

It’s only polite, after all.

 

 

_12b._

“Well.”

“Well?”

Brittany’s smile is wide and easy, and she doesn’t miss the way Anna is staring at her lips. “You know, you could also have just asked me out. _Nicely_.”

Anna scoffs, taking a step back. “I'm _very_ nice.”

“Yeah,” Brittany breathes, tugging Anna in again and closing the gap between them. “You really are.”

 

 

 


End file.
